


You Deserve Better

by MermaidMarie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers for Arrow 5.17
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-10-10 00:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10425183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMarie/pseuds/MermaidMarie
Summary: The aftermath of Arrow 5.17, in which Barry comes running to help Oliver.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just kind of needed to write something nice for Oliver after that episode. Jeez, he just cannot catch a break, and I am so sad all the time. Anyway, this could conceivably be read as platonic, but we're still just going to pretend for the sake of the story that Barry isn't with Iris.
> 
> There's a chance that I might add on to this, but for now, it's meant to stand alone. Let me know what you think, and also if you'd be interested in seeing any more.

            It was Felicity who told him. She called to let him know that he’d come back.

            Oliver had been missing, captured by an enemy who knew altogether too much. He was gone for six days. On the second day, Felicity had called Barry to ask for help.

            He had tried. He really had. He ran all through Star City, and there was no sign of him. He couldn’t find a single trace of Oliver anywhere. And he couldn’t keep looking forever- he was needed back in Central City when Supergirl came through the breach from her universe. Barry had to tear himself away from the search, just trying to trust that Felicity and Curtis would find a way to track him down.

            When his phone rang and he saw Felicity’s name, Barry just about tripped over himself to answer it. “Any news?” he said, instead of hello.

            The pause before she answered was excruciating. “He’s back,” she said, her voice quiet.

            Something was wrong. He could hear it in her voice. Something was very, very wrong. “What happened?” Barry asked hesitantly.

            “I don’t know,” she replied.

            “Is he okay?” he asked, his voice growing insistent. Oliver _had_ to be okay. Barry didn’t manage to see him very often- they were both very busy, after all. But despite that, he and Oliver had remained close. Oliver was the first person to really believe in Barry as the Flash. Barry couldn't quite express exactly how important Oliver was to him.

            “I don’t think so,” she said.

            Barry’s throat closed up. His hands started to twitch. “I’m on my way,” he said, hanging up the phone and taking off before Felicity could say anything.

            The run to Star City had always felt long, but this time, it felt like it was going to last forever. He could’ve been beating his speed record, but the anxiety would’ve still made it feel like he was running in slow motion. He just had to get to Oliver. He had to get to Oliver and make sure he was okay.

            Of course he wasn’t okay. He’d been missing for six days. Barry’s feet pounded against the ground as he ran through all the possible scenarios in his head. He couldn’t push away all the images of how Oliver could’ve been hurt, everything that could’ve happened to him. The possibilities just kept getting worse and worse.

            But nothing Barry imagined could’ve prepared him for seeing the reality.

            Oliver was in Arrow Cave alone, sitting on a chair, eyes glazed over, with his Green Arrow uniform crumpled in a pile on the floor in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept for that whole week.

            Barry took a few slow steps towards him, uncertain. “Where’s everyone else?” he said gently.

            Oliver turned to look at him for a moment before staring straight ahead again. “I sent them home.”

            Barry walked over, pulling a chair over and sitting next to him. He tried not to stare at Oliver, but it was hard.

            He was shirtless, his chest and back covered in dried blood and injuries of varying levels of severity. A large, round burn mark looked like the newest one, on his chest. Barry’s heart hurt. “Ollie…” he breathed, scanning over the injuries. “What did they do to you?”

            Oliver just shook his head slightly. “I’ve been tortured before.”

            Barry wanted to cry. As though the fact that he was used to it made it any better. “Oliver…”

            Oliver cleared his throat, his arms tensing. “Go home, Barry.”

            “Oliver-” Barry started.

            “Go _home_ ,” Oliver repeated.

            Barry didn’t move. He knew Oliver better than that. If he left, Oliver was just going to keep sitting here and dwelling on whatever was eating at him, letting himself wallow in the pain. Barry wasn’t about to let him do that.

            He just sat with Oliver for a while, staring ahead at the green fabric on the floor with him. Oliver’s breathing was shallow and shaky, like he was cold or about to cry. Barry kept looking over at him, but his blank, empty expression never changed. He seemed hollow.

            Barry reached over and touched Oliver’s arm gently. Oliver flinched, just barely, but enough that Barry noticed. “Sorry,” he said softly, pulling his hand back.

            “It’s fine,” Oliver replied flatly.

            Barry furrowed his brow, studying Oliver’s face. He was pale, bruised, with purple bags under his eyes. His hair was dirty, messily sticking up at odd angles.

            Barry’s eyes were drawn back to the two screaming red wounds on Oliver’s chest and shoulder. He swallowed, feeling echoes of those injuries on himself, empathetic ghost pains itching under his skin.

            “Can I take you to the hospital?” Barry asked, already anticipating the answer.

            Oliver shook his head.

            “Right,” Barry said. “Then let me help you get you cleaned up.”

            “Barry, I…” Oliver started, and his voice broke a little. He cleared his throat to cover it up. “I can’t go home yet.”

            “Why don’t you come back to Central City with me then?” Barry asked softly, trying to catch Oliver’s gaze.

            Oliver glanced over and their eyes met for just a moment before he looked away again. “No, I…” he said, trailing off.

            “The bathroom sink, then,” Barry said. He nudged Oliver gently on the arm. “C’mon.”

            Oliver got up slowly, allowing Barry to lead him into the bathroom. Barry grabbed one of the chairs and ran and got a few clean towels from the training area.

            Oliver sat down in the chair when Barry set it down next to the sink, leaning back and closing his eyes for a moment. “I don’t deserve this, Bar,” Oliver said softly.

            “What, being kidnapped and tortured? No, you really don’t,” Barry replied. He turned on the faucet, his hand under the water as he waited for it get warm.

            “That’s not what I meant,” Oliver said, looking down at the floor again.

            “I know what you meant,” Barry replied quietly, watching the water. He soaked one of the towels and went closer to Oliver.

            He hesitated, unsure where to start. But he had to do something, because seeing Oliver like this was just about killing him. He knelt on the ground by Oliver, looking up at his face. Oliver didn’t make eye contact.

            Barry brought a hand up to Oliver’s cheek, gently cupping it as he dabbed the towel across Oliver’s forehead, wiping away the dirt and the specks of blood. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut as Barry gently dragged the towel over the rest of his face, down his cheeks and through his overgrown stubble.

            Barry pulled the towel away again, gripping it in his fist. He brushed his thumb across Oliver’s cheek, feeling tears well up. Oliver opened his eyes again, meeting Barry gaze this time. All Barry could see was how tired and broken he looked. “Oh, Ollie…” he said softly, his voice pained.

            “I’m okay, Barry,” Oliver replied, but his voice wasn’t even a little convincing.

            Barry didn’t say anything. He let his hand linger against Oliver’s cheek for a few more moments before standing back up. He frowned for a moment, looking at Oliver’s hair. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He sped away, only gone for a few seconds before returning with small travel bottles of shampoo and soap, as well as the first aid kit from Oliver’s cabinet.

            “You’re going to have to walk me through patching you up after this,” Barry said, putting the first aid kit on the edge of the sink. “Since you won’t go to the hospital.”

            Oliver nodded and squeezed his eyes shut again.

            Barry draped one of the dry towels over Oliver’s shoulders as he tried to wash Oliver’s hair with the wet towel and shampoo.

            When he was done with that, Oliver hung his head, water dripping onto his lap. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Barry,” he said softly.

            Barry ran his fingers through Oliver’s hair, kneeling back on the ground beside him. “Do what?”

            “Any of it. Be the Arrow, or the mayor. I just… I can’t.” A few tears fell down his cheeks, and Barry reached over to brush them away.

            “It’s okay, Ollie. To quit, if that’s what you have to do.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Oliver’s briefly before getting back up. “You can’t always be a hero, saving everyone but yourself.”

            “I’m not a hero,” Oliver said, barely audibly. “I never have been.”

            “Maybe not to you,” Barry replied. “But you’ve always been a hero to me.”

            “I don’t deserve that, Barry. I really don’t.”

            “You don’t get to decide that.” Barry pulled the towel off of Oliver shoulders, looking up and down Oliver’s back. There was dried blood covering his shoulder, purple bruising on his ribs. Cuts and scrapes all over. All of this on top of the collection of scars that Oliver already had. Barry had to bite back tears just looking at it. Oliver had been through too much.

            “There’s so much you don’t know about me, Barry. You don’t know what I’ve done. You don’t know what I deserve,” Oliver said.

            “I don’t need to know what you’ve done, Oliver. Or who you used to be,” Barry said softly, dragging the tips of his fingers across one of Oliver’s scars. “I know who you’ve become since I met you. And that man is worth admiring.”

            “Barry…” Oliver sighed.

            “There’s really no use arguing with me,” Barry said, soaking the towel in warm water again. “I know you, Ollie. You may have made some mistakes, you might have some darkness in you, but your light has always been stronger than that. You’re a good person. I know you are.”

            “You sound pretty sure,” Oliver replied.

            “I am,” Barry said. He pressed the towel against Oliver’s back, avoiding the shoulder wound to start with the smaller scrapes and cuts. He tried not to imagine how Oliver got all of them, not wanting to picture it. It hurt enough to see the aftermath.

            “Why are you here, Barry?” Oliver asked quietly.

            “You were missing for six days, I was worried. Felicity told me you were back.” Barry paused for a moment, debating whether to say his next thought. “I just… I needed to see you.”

            “Shouldn’t you be back in Central City?” Oliver didn’t seem to register Barry’s tone.

            Barry almost smiled. “I’m exactly where I should be, Ollie.”

            When Barry ran out of smaller injuries to tend to, he focused back on the arrow wound in Oliver’s shoulder. He cleaned off the dried blood first, and then Oliver talked him through sanitizing and mending it. If Oliver was in any pain, he didn’t show it. He didn’t flinch or wince once. They went through the same process for the front of the wound.

            Barry looked over Oliver’s chest from where he knelt on the floor, having the same reaction all over again. Everything that had happened to Oliver, from the island to this- it was just too much for one person to go through. Barry couldn’t stand the thought of Oliver dealing with all that pain.

            “You’re staring,” Oliver said.

            Barry looked up at him, with sad eyes and hunched shoulders. “You deserve so much better than this, Ollie.”

            “I killed his father, Barry,” Oliver replied. He furrowed his brow, breaking eye contact again and turning his face away.

            Barry reached forward, cupping the back of Oliver’s neck. “ _Oliver_. You deserve _better_ than _this,”_ he repeated emphatically.

            Oliver didn’t say anything or look back over, but Barry noticed his jaw clench. He pulled away a little, looking back at Oliver’s chest and abdomen. He ran his fingers over the new injuries and old scars scattered across, following along with the towel.

            He looked at the large, round burn on Oliver’s chest, where his tattoo used to be. Barry ran a towel under cold water before gingerly dabbing it against the burn. Oliver flinched, inhaling sharply.

            “Sorry,” Barry murmured, making an effort to be even more gentle as he continued.

            “It’s fine,” Oliver replied through a clenched jaw. “He, uh. He did that right before he let me go.”

            Barry glanced up at him, eyes pained. Oliver had been tortured earlier that same day, mere hours ago. He tried to push the thought away, focusing on trying to help now rather than dwelling on what he hadn’t been doing earlier. He pulled some burn ointment from the first aid kit, dabbing some on the burn as gently as he could before covering it with a large bandage.

            Barry didn’t let the image of Oliver being burned while he was helping out Kara in. He couldn’t deal with that guilt just yet. He turned to Oliver’s arms, pulling them towards him. He used the towel and soapy water to clean them off, running his hand along the lines of the muscles. He paused when he got to Oliver’s wrists.

            There were red marks wrapped around them, marks similar to ones Barry had seen as a CSI. He hadn’t noticed them before. He dropped the towel. Oliver had been chained up. Barry didn’t know why he was surprised- Oliver had been missing for six days. It made sense that he was restrained wherever he was held. But the marks looked like Oliver had been chained for the entire six days. Barry’s chest hurt.

            Barry touched the marks lightly, his hands shaking just a little. He slipped his hands into Oliver’s, his thumbs brushing against Oliver’s knuckles.

            “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, his eyes still on Oliver’s wrists. “I should’ve tried harder to find you.”

            “I’m sure you did the best you could,” Oliver replied.

            “I could’ve done more,” Barry whispered.

            “I’m not sure it would’ve been possible to find me,” Oliver said. “He really… covered all his bases. He had been planning this for so long.”

            Barry squeezed Oliver’s hands, pulling them closer and letting his forehead rest against them. The guilt, the hurt, it came crashing down on him. This wasn’t fair. The world never seemed to give Oliver a break. Oliver was one of the best people Barry knew, and he had to go through five years of hell only to return home to go through different kinds of hell.

            “It’s okay, Barry,” Oliver said. Barry almost cried at the kindness in his voice. After all this, he still managed to find the energy to reassure Barry.

            Barry raised his head again to look Oliver directly in the eyes. “No part of this is okay, Oliver.”

            Oliver drew his eyebrows together, studying Barry’s face with a kind of desperation in his eyes. “Barry, you don’t know what he knows about me.”

            “All he knows is what you did,” Barry said. “He doesn’t know anything about who you are.”

            Oliver shook his head. “All this… He wanted me to admit something. Something I’d never admitted.” He paused, looking into Barry’s eyes deeply, like it might be the last time he could. “When I started this… I didn’t kill because I needed to. I wanted to. Those five years, I… I came back a murderer. I chose to be. I’ve killed so many people, Barry.”

            “Oliver, you had to do unthinkable things to survive those five years. No one could’ve come out of that unscathed. I know you killed people, I know you’ve tortured people. I know the kinds of things you were capable of.” Barry paused, putting a hand on Oliver’s cheek. “But I also know that you were still trying to channel the damage those years did to you into something good. And I also know that you’re not that person anymore. By the time I met you, Ollie, you were already changing. You’re not a killer anymore. What you did to survive and what you did because of those experiences are _not_ who you are. You need to find a way to forgive yourself."

            Oliver just shook his head. “You shouldn’t be around me, Barry. You’re too good.”

            The barest smile grew on Barry’s face. “You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”

            Oliver didn’t reply. He just slid down from the chair onto the floor next to Barry, resting his head on Barry’s shoulder.

            Barry brought a hand up, rubbing the back of Oliver’s head and neck. “Do you want me to take you home? You need to sleep.”

            Oliver straightened up his spine, leaning back away from Barry. “Yeah.”

            “Your place or mine?”

            “What?”

            Barry smiled, resting his hand back against Oliver’s cheek. “There’s no way I’m letting you be alone right now, Ollie.”

            “That’s not necessary,” Oliver replied, pulling away.

            “I know,” Barry replied. He looked at Oliver sadly. “But you have to let people take care of every once in a while. You don’t need to be strong all the time.”

            Oliver clenched his jaw, breaking eye contact to stare back at the floor.

            Barry studied his face, trying to catch a crack in the façade. It was always hard to read Oliver. It was hard to figure out what was going on in his mind. He reached forward, brushing his fingers against Oliver’s wrist again, swallowing the guilt. “Come to Central City with me,” he said.

            There was a long pause before Oliver nodded.

            “I’m going to have to hold you. That okay?”

            Another nod.

            Barry ran them both back to his apartment in Central City, careful to stabilize Oliver’s neck. The trip home felt much faster than the trip there.

            Oliver stumbled a little when they got there, grabbing Barry’s arm to keep from falling. Barry’s hand instinctively went to Oliver’s waist, when he remembered that Oliver still wasn’t wearing shirt.

            “We maybe should have stopped at your place to get you some clean clothes,” Barry said.

            “Little late for that now,” Oliver replied.

            Barry shook his head. “Why don’t you take a real shower? I’ll go grab us some food and find you some clothes.”

            So they split up. Barry didn’t want to leave Oliver alone, so he ran as fast as he could, picking up burgers and getting clothes from the nearest store. Oliver was still in the shower when he got back.

            Barry paced in his living room, listening to the water run and chewing on his lower lip. He just wanted to fix this. He wanted to fix it _immediately,_ but he knew it didn’t work like that. Whatever happened to Oliver, on that island, as the Arrow, tonight- it was all sticking with him. Barry just wished he could do something about it.

            He and Oliver had always tried to protect each other. It almost never worked. Getting hurt was just part of the job. It just seemed to happen to Oliver more often than most. And it wasn’t like he had speed healing to rely on.

            Not that speed healing helped with the psychological affects, and that was what Barry was most concerned about. Oliver had a high pain tolerance, but he had been broken for years. Barry knew it. He just didn’t know how to help.

            Barry stopped pacing when he heard the water shut off.

            Oliver walked out, a towel around his waist, and Barry just got hit all over again by the sight of his injuries. He turned away as Oliver pulled the clothes on.

            “I’m not hungry,” Oliver said, looking at the bag of food on the coffee table.

            “You should eat,” Barry replied.

            Oliver shook his head. “I can’t. I just… I just want to get some sleep.”

            The exhaustion and emptiness in his voice just about broke Barry’s heart. “Okay.”

            “I’ll, uh, I’ll take the couch,” Oliver mumbled, walking towards it.

            Barry put a hand on Oliver’s arm and shot him a look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ollie. You get the bed.”

            Oliver ran his hand through his hair, looking a little pained. “I don’t need… You don’t have to…”

            “I know,” Barry replied, gently squeezing Oliver’s arm. “C’mon.”

            He led Oliver into his bedroom, speeding around quickly to tidy it up and change the sheets, adding a few extra blankets and pillows. He stopped in front of Oliver, gently touching the side of his neck.

            “Just let me know if you need anything else,” he said, leaning forward to press his forehead to Oliver’s. He lingered for just a moment before pulling away and starting to walk out of the room.

            Oliver grabbed his wrist before he got to the doorway.

            “Barry,” he said softly, looking into Barry’s eyes. “Thank you.”

            Barry smiled warmly. “Of course, Ollie.” He slipped his hand into Oliver’s, squeezing lightly. “Get some rest.”

            He walked out of the room, ignoring his nagging desire to stay and make sure Oliver was okay. He got to the couch, sitting down and glancing over at the bedroom door.

            Barry didn’t sleep. He just sat up, listening carefully in case Oliver had any nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got sad again and wanted to add to this story. I don't know what I'm doing here. I haven't really thought this through. I just felt like writing. 
> 
> Do you ever feel like Ollie and Barry could both really benefit from some counseling? Because I do. They don't seem super invested in their mental health, so I guess I have to do it for them.

              The nightmares never really went away. Oliver had learned to manage the usual ones. The nightmares that came from fear weren’t so bad. He would fall asleep, and watch Thea get hit with his arrows and fall to her death. Diggle and Felicity would be trapped in the Arrow Cave as it flooded with water, and he could hear their calls for help as they drowned. He would be back on the island, helpless, alone, lost. But he’d wake up into a world where these things weren’t true. He would jerk awake in cold sweat, relief flooding over him when reality hit again.

              It was the nightmares that came from memories that stung the most. Falling asleep only to see Slade Wilson drive a sword through his mother’s chest. Or watching his father take a gun to his head. Or watching Tommy, impaled and dying slowly. Or seeing Laurel slipping away in a hospital room. He’d wake up from those nightmares into a world where those things happened. Where those things happened, and those people were still dead. Reliving the memories just brought all the pain back up, and there was no relief in waking.

              He didn’t want to sleep. Sleeping wasn’t safe. Not in his mind, not in the world. He’d risk seeing the horrors he’d already witnessed all over again, and sleeping was the most vulnerable to threats he could be. And Adrian Chase was still out there. Oliver knew, logically, that he was safe in Central City. Safe in Barry’s apartment. He had nothing to be afraid of.

              He drifted off, quickly, not realizing just how tired he’d been.

              And he was there again. In that cell.

              He could feel the cold concrete beneath his feet. The cuffs straining against his wrists as he panicked, trying to pull away. The metal bars seemed closer now, the ceiling seemed lower. Like the room was shrinking around him.

              And then he was on his knees, suddenly knocked down. The impact stung, the pain traveling through his bones. He tried not to let it show as Adrian towered over him. Was he always that tall?

              Adrian stared down at Oliver with hate in his eyes, and Oliver had never felt so small. He couldn’t do anything. He had dreamt being released from this place. He had dreamt Barry’s kind words. Figments of his imagination, giving him false hope. Adrian was never going to let him leave. He was going to die here, dried blood on his skin, bruises covering his body. He was going to die here, cold and alone.

              Adrian shoved him onto his back. Oliver tried to speak, but no words would come out. And then Adrian pulled out the blowtorch, and Oliver’s heart pounded.

              Adrian pushed the flame into Oliver’s chest, and Oliver could feel the white hot pain, could smell the sickening burning. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to not let Adrian see his pain. He didn’t want to let Adrian have that kind of power over him. But he couldn’t help it. He screamed.

              He shot up, his eyes snapping open, breathing heavily. He immediately winced, the sudden movement causing shooting pains all over his torso.

              “Oliver,” he heard a voice whisper. He turned, seeing Barry in the doorway. He walked over, perching on the edge of the bed. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

              But it had still _happened_. Oliver felt the reminders scattered across his body. The place where his tattoo once was. Adrian had made sure he’d never forget.

              Barry slowly slid over to him, settling down next to him on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He touched Oliver’s arm gently with the tips of his fingers, like he was afraid of startling him. “Ollie, what can I do?”

              Oliver clenched his jaw. Who did he think he was, letting Barry worry about him like this? Accepting Barry’s help? He didn’t deserve this. Barry would be so much better off without him.

              “Ollie?”

              Oliver just shook his head. “I’m fine.”

              Barry nodded, running his fingers along Oliver’s upper arm. The gentle kindness in his touch made Oliver want to break down, like he was a little kid again. His shoulders tensed as he tried to regain control.

              Oliver leaned against the headboard beside Barry, squeezing his eyes shut.

              “You should try to get back to sleep,” Barry said softly.

              “How long was I out?”

              “About half an hour.”

              Only half an hour. Oliver felt nauseous, thinking of the power Adrian held over him. He couldn’t even sleep. It didn’t seem like any of this would ever be any better. Oliver couldn’t picture a way. He took a deep breath, lying back down and staring at the ceiling.

              “You don’t have to stay,” he told Barry. He felt ashamed that Barry was wasting any energy on him in the first place.

              “Please don’t make me leave,” Barry murmured back, his hands brushing over the marks on Oliver’s wrists.  

              Oliver glanced over at Barry, feeling guilt rise in his throat. Barry must have more important things to do than this.

              “Please,” Barry repeated, slipping his hand into Oliver’s and squeezing. “I need… I need to know you’re going to be okay.”

              Oliver tried to lie, but he couldn’t. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice soft and weak. He clenched his jaw when he heard it. He hated feeling like this.

              Barry rubbed his thumb against Oliver’s wrist and nodded. “Then I need to know I’m doing everything I can to help.”

              “More than I could ever ask for,” Oliver replied. He frowned, feeling the weight of all he’d done on his shoulders. “I don’t think I’m worth all this, Barry.”

              “That’s okay. I _know_ that you are,” Barry said. He took a breath, glancing over at Oliver. “I should’ve done more.”

              Oliver breath caught in his throat. All he could think was how he must’ve really tricked Barry into believing he’s a good person. What kind of lies did he have to tell Barry to get this kind of kindness? This kind of loyalty? What could he have possibly done to earn it?

              “Adrian, he…” Oliver started, his voice soft, unsure of what he was even going to say. “He knows things about me. He made me… admit that I _liked_ killing. Barry, I… You shouldn’t be doing all this for me.”

              Barry looked at Oliver for a moment. He reached his hand up and ran his fingers through Oliver’s hair gently. “Ollie, Adrian is _wrong_ about you. I _know_ you. I don’t care what Adrian said, or what he made you say. You’re a good person. You always have been. You're a hero.”

              Oliver didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. Barry had this faith in people- this faith in _him._

              Barry rested his hand against the side of Oliver’s neck. “So will you let me stay with you?”

              Oliver wanted to be able to say no. He didn’t want to need the comfort of Barry next to him. He wanted to feel strong again. Like Adrian wasn’t going to haunt him. Like he’d be able to recover from this.  But he nodded and turned onto his side, facing away from Barry.

              He fell asleep to the sounds of Barry’s uneven breathing and the feeling of Barry’s fingers gently tracing the scars and cuts on his back.

 

              If he had any nightmares, he didn’t remember them when he woke up.

              Sunlight was streaming in through the window, and Oliver blinked a few times to readjust. It was never really this sunny in the morning in Star City. They were used to the fog and overcast that would stick around through the warm months.

              He leaned up, propping himself up on his arms. Barry’s room looked different in the light. It looked so normal, so inviting. Oliver felt strange, like he was dreaming. Everything was too soft, too kind. After the week he’d had, it seemed wrong. It didn’t seem possible.

              He didn’t even think he was going to survive. He’d thought Adrian was going to kill him. He’d practically resigned himself to it. It’s not like he didn’t deserve it, in any case.

              But here he was, in a warm bed with altogether too many pillows, in sunny Central City. Alive. And Adrian Chase was still out there somewhere. Maybe at City Hall, doing his job that had allowed him to get so close to Oliver in the first place. Maybe he was waiting for Oliver to come back to work. Take a look at the damage he’d done and gloat.

              Just the thought of it made Oliver want to throw up. He didn’t want Adrian to see how he’d managed to break him. Didn’t want Adrian to know the kind of power he had. But he didn’t know how to hide it. He was _afraid._ And Adrian must know that, too.

              Oliver just felt hollow.

              He leaned against the headboard, trying to stop himself from wincing at the pain. He glanced around and noticed that Barry wasn’t in the room anymore.

              His pulse immediately quickened, going into panic mode faster than he’d ever want to admit. What if Adrian knew where he was? What if he’d followed them here somehow? What if he was coming after Barry now, because Barry had helped him?

              Oliver pulled himself out of bed quickly, ignoring the throbbing pain in his chest and walking out into the living room.

              Then Barry sped in through the front door, carrying large takeout bags of food, and Oliver had to stop himself from flinching.

              Barry started to take a step towards Oliver, before hesitating and stopping. “You’re up. Sorry, I, uh, I wanted to get back before you woke up. I didn’t think I’d be long.”

              Oliver nodded and sat down on the couch. _Everything’s fine. Of course everything is fine._

              Barry followed his lead, putting the bags on the coffee table. “I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got a bunch of different things. But if, you know, you want something else, I can go back out, it’s no problem. I just didn’t want to wake you up, but since you didn’t eat last night, I thought-”

              “Barry,” Oliver said gently. “This is fine. Thank you.”

              Barry gave a quick smile and ducked his head self-consciously. He grabbed the Jitters bag first, pulling out the assortment of pastries.

              Oliver just looked at the food for a moment, still feeling nauseous and hollow. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stomach anything. He hadn’t been hungry all week. How could he have been? The thought of food made his stomach clench.

              Barry seemed to notice, because he put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, studying his face for a moment. “You okay?” He paused for a moment before shaking his head. “Sorry, stupid question.”

              “I have to get back to City Hall,” Oliver said. “I’m still the mayor, I should… I should be there.”

              “Ollie,” Barry started, a little taken aback. “You don’t have to do that. You need some time, don’t you?”

              Oliver shook his head. “I’ll be fine, Bar. I can’t… I can’t let Adrian stop me from doing my job.”

              “But Oliver…” Barry said softly. “Won’t he be there?”

              “I can handle it,” Oliver replied, straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders.

              “I know you can,” Barry said, leaning towards him and taking his hand. “But you shouldn’t have to. Ollie, cut yourself some slack here. It’s okay to need some time to recover, you know.”

              “People are relying on me.” He couldn’t hide. Not now.

              “Sometimes, you need to put yourself first.” Barry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Oliver, after everything you’ve been through, it’s already amazing you’re still here, still trying to be a hero. You’ve more than earned some time off. You need to take care of yourself.”

              All Oliver felt was guilt. Well, guilt and fear. Guilt because he had yet to atone for everything he’d done, and he was letting this incredibly kind, good person waste his time. Fear because Adrian was still here. “Barry, you don’t understand,” Oliver started. “I can’t… I can’t do _anything,_ knowing Chase is still around. He won. He’s always going to win.”

              Barry squeezed Oliver’s hand. “Ollie, it’s been less than a day. I don’t know everything he did to you, but… Look, will you just stay here another night? Please? The real world can wait.”

              He looked at Oliver pleadingly. Oliver's resolve was cracking. He couldn't find it in him to be stubborn. Seeing the concern in Barry’s eyes, feeling the comfort and affection in his hands, it was all enough to make Oliver want to stay forever. “Okay.”

              Barry smiled with relief, and Oliver leaned into him, closing his eyes. 

              Maybe it would get better. Maybe it would be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think maybe this upcoming season on Arrow, Oliver will go to therapy and get some help for all of the trauma he's been through? I don't, but wouldn't that be great? I'd love for the writers to let him catch a break and actually focus on his mental health.  
> Barry could also benefit. But so could Cisco? Iris, too, probably. Man, all these characters could use some counseling, and I am concerned for them.

            Oliver still wasn’t eating. Barry kept nervously glancing at the pile of food on the coffee table. Oliver hadn’t touched it. Barry didn’t know what he ate while he was held- or if he ate at all. He could’ve been starved for the past week for all Barry knew.

            Barry didn’t want to nag or pressure. He had to be careful here. He knew Oliver. Oliver could shut down, close off, leave. Barry couldn’t say the wrong thing. He didn’t want Oliver to leave.

            He told himself that it was just because he knew Oliver needed time away, that Oliver couldn’t go back to work this soon, especially not when Adrian was there waiting for him. And that was part of it, of course. Barry knew that Oliver needed and deserved some rest and distance, and he knew that Oliver wasn’t about to admit it.

            Just like Barry didn’t want to admit that part of the reason he wanted Oliver to stay so bad was selfish. He had been sick with worry. He didn’t really want to let Oliver out of his sight.

            His eyes fell again to Oliver’s wrists. Barry wasn’t sure why it was those marks that made his chest hurt the most. Maybe it was that he’d mostly seen those kinds of marks on dead bodies, and this was just visual proof that he could’ve lost Oliver forever.

            It was also just the image that kept coming up in Barry’s mind, of Oliver, chained up and in pain and alone. And Barry couldn’t find him. Barry had failed him, and that was going to haunt him forever.

            The only reason Oliver wasn’t dead was that Adrian chose to let him go. He had been at Adrian’s mercy. Adrian could’ve done anything- he only released Oliver because he still wanted him alive. And that scared Barry.

            And it _hurt_. The thought that Oliver was still in danger… Barry could hardly stand it.

            He could only imagine what Oliver felt.

            Oliver clasped his hands together and leaned forward slightly. “You’re staring,” he said, looking down at his wrists.

            Barry cleared his throat and straightened up. “Sorry, uh… Sorry. I just… Sorry.”

            “You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Oliver said softly. He scratched a little at his wrists.

            “God, Oliver,” Barry said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s all just so unfair.”

            Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. “Barry, please, just… Just stop.”

            Barry started to touch Oliver’s shoulder, but Oliver leaned away. “Ollie, I-”

            “I’m going to go take a shower,” Oliver interrupted, not making eye contact as he got up and left.

            Barry’s hand hovered in the air for a few more moments. He sighed and let it drop to his lap. He didn’t know what to do. He got up, glancing over to where Oliver had gone. It was hard to know the right things to say or do here. He didn’t want to fail Oliver again.

 _He’ll probably need something to wear,_ Barry thought to himself before speeding off to buy some clothes from the nearest store. He bought enough to last at least a week, if Oliver would agree to stay that long.

            He really hoped Oliver would agree to stay.

            When Barry got back, Oliver was still in the shower. He left the clothes in a neat pile right outside the bathroom door, lingering for a moment before backing away. He paced in the living room, arms crossed over his chest.

            He wanted to be there for Oliver. He wanted to do _something_ to help, something to convince Oliver to get help. The trauma, the nightmares, the self-hate… Barry knew that Oliver was strong, but he also knew that no one could bounce back from this effortlessly. He wanted to tell Oliver that it was okay to be weak sometimes, to let yourself be vulnerable. That it was okay to need help, and that he didn’t have anything to prove.

            He didn’t know how to say it without Oliver getting defensive or closing himself off. 

            He stopped pacing when his phone started to ring.

            “Hello?”

 _“Barry,”_ Felicity said with a sigh of relief. _“We tried calling earlier this morning, but no one picked up.”_

            “Um, sorry, I’ve been… Oliver’s here,” Barry said, rubbing the back of his neck. “If that’s what you were calling about.”

 _“Yeah, we were trying to figure out where he’d gone off to,”_ Diggle’s voice came through. _“How’s he doing?”_

            Barry glanced back towards the bathroom. “It’s hard to say.”

 _“He shut down the team,”_ Felicity said. _“Locked us out of the Arrow Cave. He was pretty adamant about shutting down the team last night.”_

            Barry sighed. “He just… He needs time. So you guys just figure something else out for right now, because maybe it’s for the best that he holds off on the vigilante business for a while.”

 _“We have other options,”_ Felicity replied. _“We can handle the city.”_

            “That’s good,” Barry said, but truth be told, he hadn’t been the least bit worried about Star City. All he could manage to worry about at the moment was Oliver.

 _“How long is he staying with you?”_ Diggle asked.

            “I talked him into staying here another night,” Barry said into the phone, keeping his voice low.

 _“Probably for the best,”_ Diggle replied, sounding exhausted.

            “Where does the city council think he is?” Barry asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He was almost afraid of the answer.

            “ _Quentin told them some story about Oliver going on a spiritual retreat,”_ Diggle replied.

            Barry almost wanted to laugh. He might’ve if the whole situation wasn’t so depressing. “How long do you think that’ll hold?”

 _“We can make it last as long as it needs to. Do you think you can convince him to stay longer?”_ Felicity chimed in again.

            “I want to try,” Barry mumbled, pulling his arm into his chest. “I don’t think he should have to go back there, definitely not while Chase is still around anyway. No way he should have to be in the same room as that guy.” Barry didn’t want to let himself get caught up with hating Chase, but it was hard when he’d seen the aftermath. He just had to remind himself to calm down, the important thing right now was helping Oliver recover. His anger at Chase could wait.

 _“We’ll work on getting Chase in the meantime,”_ Felicity replied.

 _“Keep us posted,”_ Diggle added.

            “I will. And let me know if there’s any news with Chase,” Barry replied.

            They said their goodbyes and Barry hung up the phone, still gripping it tight in his hand. He just hoped they got Chase behind bars fast. Barry couldn’t stand the thought of the man who did this to Oliver being out there, free, still just as dangerous. Oliver had been through enough.

            He turned around, nearly jumping when he saw Oliver there, dressed, hair still wet from the shower.

            Oliver met Barry’s gaze steadily, standing tall with his jaw clenched.

            Barry was the one to break eye contact. “How much of that did you hear?”

            “I heard enough,” Oliver replied, his voice quiet. “I don’t… Listen, Barry, I do appreciate what you’re doing here, but I don’t need looking after. I can handle myself. And I’m going to go back to the mayor’s office.”

            Barry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know you can handle it, Oliver. I don’t want you to have to. You were held and tortured for a _week._ ”

            “I shouldn’t have agreed to stay another night,” Oliver said, starting to walk away. “I’ve already been away from the office for too long.”

            Barry sped over in front of him. He almost touched Oliver’s chest, but pulled his hand back quickly at the last second. “No, Ollie, please. Don’t try to go back there. Please. I won’t stop you, but… Oliver, just let it go for now. You deserve some time.”

            “No, I don’t. The _city_ deserves a mayor who does his job. I was supposed to be that for them,” Oliver said, stepping around Barry, avoiding his eyes. “Just leave me alone, Barry.”

            “Ollie, wait, come on,” Barry said, turning. He reached out to touch Oliver’s arm gently. He saw Oliver flinch away slightly and his heart broke. “I just… We just got you back.”

            His voice cracked a little, and Oliver’s posture relaxed. He turned to Barry, his eyes softer.

            “I didn’t know if you were ever coming back, Ollie,” Barry said, keeping his hand on Oliver’s arm. 

            “Barry-” Oliver started, closing his eyes like he was bracing for something.

            “Please,” Barry interrupted. “Don’t go.”

            “Star City needs me,” Oliver said, taking a breath. “And I need to get Chase.”

            “What you need is to take care of yourself,” Barry replied. He hesitated a moment, studying Oliver’s eyes. He took a step forward, tentatively putting a hand on Oliver’s cheek. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

            Oliver leaned away. “I’m fine.”

            Barry pulled his hand back, holding it towards his chest. “No, you’re not,” he replied softly. “After everything you’ve been through, that’s not possible. _Please,_ Oliver. Stay a few days. Don’t go back there.”

            Oliver’s gaze snapped up and he glared. “What are you going to do, chain me up?”

            Barry’s heart hurt and his eyes were drawn back to Oliver’s wrists. He knew that Oliver was trying to upset him, trying to get him to stop asking him to stay. He knew that Oliver was using his guilt against him.

            That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. “Ollie…”

            “Don’t,” Oliver replied harshly. “Just stop it.”

            He got up quickly, walking briskly towards the door. Barry didn’t move as Oliver left and slammed the door behind him.

            He sighed deeply, leaning forward on his knees. Images of Oliver’s injuries kept coming up his mind. The scars, the cuts, the raw red burn on his chest. Barry squeezed his eyes shut, searching for the right words, trying to come up with some combination of phrases that would make Oliver stay.

He couldn’t think of anything.

 

            Oliver paused, leaning back against the wall by the door in the hallway of the apartment building, his eyes closed tightly. He’d gotten up too fast, moved too quickly. Everything hurt. Just stinging reminders of his weakness.

            He didn’t know why he was doing this. Why he was _like this._ He didn’t want to lash out at Barry.

            Good, kind Barry, who was only ever trying to help. Oliver hated himself for taking his pain out on Barry.

            He pressed a hand on the bandage under his shirt, the one covering his burn. It stung under the pressure, and the flashes of the blowtorch coming towards him came up in his mind. He’d deserved it. After everything he’d done, after everything he’d become, he deserved every part of it. He knew that.

            Barry didn’t deserve any of this. Sometimes, Oliver wished they’d never met. Barry would be better off. All Oliver ever did was cause problems for him and hurt him.

            It would be better to just push Barry away, reject all his help and his kindness. Oliver only ever made things worse.

            He pressed his hand a little harder, desperate to focus on the physical pain, the kind that Oliver could handle, the kind that Oliver was used to. The burn began to throb and he eased the pressure off.

            He slid down the wall, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.

            The worst part was how useless he felt. It was bad enough he was captured, bad enough that he couldn’t fight back, bad enough that Chase had complete control. It was bad enough that he was only alive because Chase still wanted him to be. But he was in _pain._ It was hard to do anything at all.

            He focused on his breathing, something he could control. He tried to keep it steady. It was almost comforting. It might’ve been if he didn’t feel so _pathetic._

            In passing, he wished he’d died on the Gambit. None of this would ever have happened.

            He couldn’t help but think how much better off everyone would’ve been. How many people would still be alive.

            He should’ve died.

            Oliver heard Barry’s door open but he didn’t look up from his hands. He would’ve left by now if it didn’t _hurt_ so much. He couldn’t look at Barry. It was too much.

            “Ollie,” Barry mumbled, sitting down on the floor next to him. “I’m sorry.”

            Oliver almost laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied, squeezing his eyes shut.

            “If you need to lash out at someone, it’s okay,” Barry said with a sigh. “I don’t mind. Yell at me, whatever. I get it. Just… please come back inside.”

            “You don’t have to be this nice to me,” Oliver replied, a little too curtly.

            Barry pulled Oliver’s hand towards him, lacing their fingers together. “Yes, I do.”

            “Isn’t there something else you should be doing?” Oliver replied. “Go be the Flash or something?”

            Barry shook his head. “Like I told you yesterday, I’m exactly where I need to be.” He squeezes Oliver’s hand. “Come back inside with me. You still need to eat. Diggle and Felicity can take care of Star City. It’ll be okay. Just come back inside.”

            “Central City needs you,” Oliver said.

            “ _You_ need me,” Barry replied.

            Oliver wanted to argue, but he couldn’t find it in him. He was just so tired. Barry was too much. He almost wanted to be back in that cell, with Chase’s hatred and anger. That, he knew how to manage. Here, he just felt guilty and worthless and like any second, Barry would see him for what he was.

            He couldn’t let himself get comfortable with this kind of kindness, because Barry would realize soon enough that he didn’t deserve it.

            “Ollie?” Barry whispered.

            “I should get back to Star City,” Oliver said flatly.

            “You don’t have to do that,” Barry replied. “You have a team back there taking care of the city. It’ll be okay.”

            “Why are you doing this?” Oliver asked before he could stop himself. He barely wanted to hear the answer. He didn’t want to hear Barry pity him, or hear about Barry’s feelings of obligation.

            “I care about you, Ollie,” Barry said softly. He moved so he was kneeling in front of Oliver, trying to catch his gaze. He held both of Oliver’s hands in his, holding them close to his chest. “Don’t go.”

            Oliver finally met Barry’s gaze. Barry was looking at him pleadingly, his brow furrowed and his eyes shiny. Oliver hated himself for putting Barry through all this. “Barry, I don’t… I don’t want you to have to deal with this.”

            Barry just looked at him sadly. He brought a hand up to touch Oliver’s cheek, seemed to hesitate for a few moments. “Ollie,” he said softly. He leaned forward, his hand cupping the back of Oliver’s neck, and pressed his lips to Oliver’s. He pulled away slowly, his forehead against Oliver’s and his breathing uneven. “Please stay. Give yourself a week. You’ve more than earned it.”

            Oliver’s chest tightened. He barely knew how to react. He wasn’t completely sure this was real. “Barry… What was that?”

            Barry leaned away slowly, meeting Oliver’s eyes. “That was me being honest,” he replied. “I really want you to stay, Ollie. I just… You have no idea… I can’t lose you, Oliver.”

            “Barry-” Oliver started.

            “I’m just asking for a week,” Barry said. “The world can wait that long.”

            Oliver took a breath. With the way Barry was looking at him, what else could he say? What else could he do? “Okay,” he replied.

            Barry squeezed his hands gently. “Thank you.”

            Oliver studied Barry’s face for a moment. All this kindness, all this generosity… Oliver didn’t deserve someone like him. But he let Barry lead him back into the apartment, and told himself that maybe someday, he would become good enough for Barry.

            Even if Oliver didn’t quite believe it, it was a nice thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone that has commented. It really makes me want to write more, and I appreciate you offering your thoughts and feelings about the story. I still don't fully know where I'm going here, but I have a small plan at the moment. Hope you like where this is going. I'm really attached to hurt/comfort as a genre, especially the comfort part.

              Oliver hovered uncomfortably near the door. They stood in silence, the silence getting louder and louder as it went on. Oliver tried his best to keep his breathing steady. He couldn’t help but feel like he was doing the wrong thing. Star City was his responsibility. And he didn’t really need any time.

              He was fine. Right? This wasn’t all that different than the rest of the past five years of his life. This pain, this trauma, this was just his normal state of being. He could function just fine. He had responsibilities.

              Barry was tapping his fingers nervously on his wrist, looking around his apartment. It suddenly seemed so small. Oliver was completely still and stoic, and Barry’s heart kept beating faster. He’d just confessed his love and talked Oliver into staying in his apartment for a week, and Oliver was still only just starting to recover, and Barry was such _an idiot._ Now was not exactly the right time for _that kind_ of honesty.

              “I can’t take the bed the whole time I’m here,” Oliver said, finally breaking the silence. “I will move to the couch.”

              Barry immediately scoffed. “It’s only a week, Ollie. It’s fine, I promise.”

              “Let me pay you back for all the food,” Oliver said.

              “Don’t be ridiculous,” Barry replied.

              Oliver clenched his jaw. He turned to look Barry in the eyes. “Thank you. For everything you’re doing for me.”

              “Of course,” Barry said softly.

              Oliver cleared his throat. “But I can’t just sit around feeling useless. You have to let me do something to repay you.”

              Barry cocked his head to the side. “That’s not—”

              “Barry, please,” Oliver said, closing his eyes.

              “Repay me for the food then, but you have to actually eat it,” Barry replied.

              Oliver almost rolled his eyes, but he knew that Barry was right. He hadn’t eaten in days. He’d ignored the scraps of food Adrian had thrown at him, not willing to let himself sink that low. Not willing to let Adrian dehumanize him like that. He couldn’t do anything about the torture, about the pain, about the chains, but he decided to not let Adrian make him feel desperate.

              So he didn’t eat. He hadn’t eaten. He should be starving, but he just felt nauseous. Everything in him was rejecting the desire to survive, to take care of himself.

              He looked at the food, still sitting on the coffee table. He sighed. He was going to have to eat. He was going to have to move on. He was going to have to accept that he wasn’t dead.

              “If there’s something else you want, I can go get it,” Barry offered gently. He almost put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, but he caught a glimpse of the bandage making a small lump over his arrow wound and pulled his hand back.

              Oliver shook his head. “This is… This is nice, Barry,” he tried. He was sure it sounded forced, but what could he do?

              “Are you sure? Because I didn’t get any Mexican food. I mostly stuck to breakfast—so there’s the pastries, and some pancakes, and waffles, but I didn’t think about getting a breakfast burrito—”

              “Barry.”

              “Sorry.”

              Oliver dragged his hand against his neck. “I meant it. When I said you should stop apologizing.”

              Barry chuckled, a little nervously. “Yeah, I just can’t help it.” He paused. “ _Someone_ needs to be sorry about everything that’s happened to you.”

              Oliver just looked at Barry for a moment. Barry smiled at him in this kind, understanding way that made Oliver want to run away. It was nice, to feel cared about, to feel the empathy and the concern emanating from this person. But Oliver couldn’t shake the urge to brush it off and run away.

              He took a deep breath and went back to the couch, sitting in front of the food. Staring at it. Eating shouldn’t be this hard, he told himself.

              Barry hesitated a moment before deciding to follow Oliver to the couch. He sat down, maybe a little closer than necessary, and offered a grin. “I call the blueberry muffin,” he said.

              Oliver raised an eyebrow. “You can have it.”

              Barry scoffed. “Yeah, because I called it.” He grabbed the muffin, eating it casually. He hoped he was putting Oliver more at ease, but he really couldn’t tell.

              Oliver stared at the food for a few more moments, before reaching tentatively for a plain scone. It seemed safe enough. His stomach turned. He forced a few bites down, trying not to think of the scraps of food Adrian had tossed at him. The stale bread with small spots of what looked like mold. The wilted vegetables that looked like they’d been pulled straight from the trash. All to make him feel dehumanized and dependent.

              Barry studied Oliver’s face. He was staring at the floor, jaw clenched, crumbs from the scone falling from his tense hand. “Are you okay?” he asked slowly.

              Oliver abruptly got up from the couch, heading straight for the bathroom. He immediately vomited mostly just water, his hand braced on the wall with knuckles turning white. He leaned back, slumping against the wall, tears stinging his eyes.

              Barry’s chest tightened. He sighed. All he could do was wish he knew the right thing to say, the right thing to offer. He just wished he was better at this. He tentatively followed Oliver, hovering by the partially open door. He knocked softly.

              “Ollie?” he said.

              “I’m sorry,” came the breathless reply.

              Barry pushed the door open, seeing Oliver hunched on the floor, head against his knees. He slid to the ground next to Oliver, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

              “Can I be honest?” Oliver asked, his voice just barely steady.

              “Always,” Barry said.

              “I don’t think I ever will be,” Oliver said. As the words came out, a couple tears slipped down his cheeks. He swallowed hard, trying to pull himself together. But, man, it was _hard._ How was he supposed to be normal after all this? How was anything supposed to be okay? Everything he’d done, everything he was, everything that had happened.

              He knew this was what he deserved. But it hurt like hell anyway, that this mess, this useless _mess,_ was all his life ended up amounting to.

              Barry couldn’t find the words. He just slipped a hand into Oliver’s, squeezing. Oliver squeezed back hard.

              “Barry, I can’t do this,” Oliver said, barely audibly.

              “Can’t do what?” Barry replied.

              “ _This._ Any of it. I just… It would’ve been better if I’d died on that boat.” Oliver swallowed. “If I’d died on that boat, it would’ve been better for everyone.”

              Barry could almost hear his heart shatter. “Don’t say that, Ollie. It’s not true. I know you feel worthless right now, but you’re not. You’re strong, and brave, and amazing. And the world is better with you in it.”

              “You don’t have to say that,” Oliver replied.

              “I do,” Barry said. “And I’ll say it as many times as I need to for you to _hear it.”_

              Oliver turned to Barry, saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes, and let out a small chuckle. “You are something else, you know that?”

              “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Barry replied, jutting out his chin and smiling.

              Oliver tried to pull himself up but faltered, falling back against the tile hard. He swore under his breath, wincing badly. Pain shot through him, throbbing at his fresh burn and his cuts. His arms shook under him.

              Barry leaned forward, not quite touching him. “Are you okay?” he said, a little urgently. “What do you need?”

              “Some space,” Oliver almost snapped.

              Barry pulled away quickly, sitting against the opposite wall, holding his hands up.

              Oliver blinked, glancing towards Barry. “Sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean…”

              Barry shook his head. “It’s fine,” he assured. “Just… take your time.”

              “I’m _fine,_ ” Oliver said, pulling himself slowly to his feet, the pain still stinging across his body.

              Barry bit his tongue, following close behind Oliver as they went back to the living room, to sit on the couch and stare at the food again.

 

              It had been several hours. Several hours of no real progress. Oliver wanted to punch a wall.

              “I’ve got an idea,” Barry said suddenly. He got up, pulling Oliver’s wrist gently.

              Oliver just looked at him skeptically.

              “So I realize you’re not sick,” Barry said, leading Oliver to the kitchen. “Well. Not exactly sick. Not in the typical sense. I mean, I don’t mean to diminish anything, I just mean you don’t have, like, the flu, or a cold or something.”

              “Barry,” Oliver prompted, sitting at the kitchen table.

              “Right, anyway,” Barry continued. “Here’s what I’m thinking. I’ll make all the typical comfort foods for the flu, right? Chicken noodle soup, Jell-O, right? And I’ll get some Saltine crackers and ginger ale. That way, maybe you can stomach it, and the association will be that all this—” he gestured vaguely “—will seem like nothing more than a bad case of the flu. What do you say?”

              “That’s a very kind gesture, but—” Oliver began.

              Barry took both his hands, crouching in front of the chair. “Just… Just let me try to fix this. Okay? It’s fine if it doesn’t work, you don’t even have to eat any of it if you don’t want to, I just… I need to try something. Please?”

              Oliver sighed. He leaned forward slightly, staring deeply into Barry’s eyes, almost smiling. “Thank you, Barry.”

              Barry got caught off guard for a moment, a little flustered by Oliver’s gaze and sincerity. He nearly fell over, but instead, he just stumbled over his words. “Right—of, of course, I mean… You’re wel-You’re welcome… I just… Trying… My best.” He cleared his throat and pulled away abruptly.

              “Is there anything I can do to help?” Oliver said coolly.

              Barry shot him a glare. “Of course not. You never make food for yourself when you have the flu.”

              “I don’t have the flu,” Oliver replied.

              “Not the point,” Barry said. He started speeding around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients from cupboards so he could make the food as fast as possible.

              Barry figured that all he could do was try. Just try to make Oliver feel better, in any way he could. Just try to make sure that Oliver knew he was important, that he knew he was loved, that he knew that things would get better. Barry couldn’t stand to see Oliver in this kind of pain. Or any kind of pain, if he’s being honest.

 

              “Barry, I really don’t need the bed. I can just take the couch, it’ll be fine,” Oliver said, his tone a little exasperated. It was nice and all to be frustrated with how well he was being treated after a week of torture, but Oliver wasn’t exactly accustomed to being taken care of like this.

              “That’s ridiculous,” Barry replied.

              “Why? It’s your apartment,” Oliver insisted.

              Barry sighed. “Are you going to be this difficult all week?”

              “You’re right, maybe I should head back to Star City now,” Oliver replied, raising an eyebrow.

              Barry’s face fell for a few seconds before he realized that Oliver was kidding. “You know that’s not what I was saying,” Barry said, his tone serious.

              Oliver smiled a little. “Barry, I was just kidding.”

              “I know, but…” Barry took a step towards him. “I need you to know that I want you here. Okay?”

              Oliver studied Barry’s eyes for a moment. How serious and warm they were. “Okay,” he replied quietly. He cleared his throat and took a small step back. “Just take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

              Barry snorted. “If you take the couch, I’m sleeping on the floor.”

              Oliver rolled his eyes. “If you sleep on the floor, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

              “That’s hardly productive,” Barry replied, with a small grin. “If you try to sleep on the floor, I’m sleeping outside.”

              “Now you’re really being ridiculous,” Oliver said, shooting him a quick glare. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Look, why don’t we just both take the bed?”

              Barry frowned. “Are you sure?”

              Oliver shrugged. “It was fine last night. It might have even helped with the…” He didn’t say nightmares. He didn’t want to fully admit it.

              Barry nodded, but his heart started beating just a little bit faster. “Okay. If you’re sure,” he said.

              Oliver and Barry just stood there for a moment, a tension between them. Barry took a breath and gestured towards the bedroom. They got ready for sleep in a tense silence.

              Oliver was in bed first, on his side, as close to the edge as possible. He heard Barry turn off the light and climb in next to him, his breath unsteady.

              “Goodnight,” Barry said softly.

              Oliver didn’t reply. He just squeezed his eyes tighter shut. He didn’t know why he felt so tense. Barry had slept next to him the night before, and it hadn’t been like this. He tried to control his breathing, making it shallow and steady.

              Barry turned towards Oliver, looking at the bandages on the back of his shoulder. It was all he could do not to cry in the dark and the silence. Trying to help had kept him distracted, but every time he had a moment, all he could think is how he hadn’t tried hard enough to find Oliver in the first place.

              He wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself. He could’ve found Oliver, if he’d tried hard enough. He was _there._ Somewhere. Waiting and hurting. And Barry had failed. Barry had failed him. How was that ever going to hurt any less? How many scars was Oliver going to have now?

              And it was Barry’s fault, wasn’t it? At least a little bit? He couldn’t help but believe that. He thought about his time with Kara, how lighthearted that whole experience was. And how while he was helping her, Oliver had a blowtorch held against his chest. Just so he’d never forget what had been done to him.

              Barry couldn’t stop the tears from coming. It hurt too much.

              Oliver heard a slight whimper from behind him, a suppressed sob. Shaky breathing. His heart pounded. He turned over slowly in the dark, to see Barry quickly wiping his face with the back of his hand.

              “What it is?” Oliver whispered in the dark.

              Barry shook his head.

              “No, what’s wrong?” Oliver asked.

              “I failed you,” Barry said.

              “No, you didn’t.”

              “I did. I did, and there’s nothing I can do to make up for it.” Barry sighed, wiping his face again. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this.”

              “It’s not your fault, Barry,” Oliver replied softly. “It’s okay.”

              Barry shook his head again. “Please, don’t. I can’t… I can’t hear you say that this is okay.” Barry paused, looking into Oliver’s eyes. “I should’ve been there for you.”

              “Barry—” Oliver started.

              “No,” Barry interrupted. “You shouldn’t have to reassure me here. Don’t… Don’t worry about me. Okay? It’s not important.”

              Oliver was silent for a few moments. And then he did something unexpected.

              He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Barry’s. He wrapped his hand around the back of Barry’s neck, kissing him deeply, desperately. He rubbed a thumb against Barry’s cheek, shifting his body closer until he and Barry were just an inch or two away from touching.

              And then he pulled away.

              “Ollie?” Barry breathed, his tone apprehensive.

              “Thank you,” Oliver said, brushing Barry’s hair back off his forehead. “You’ve done so much for me, and I can’t tell you what it means for me.”

              “You’re… You’re welcome,” Barry replied, still breathless. Still confused.

              “Just… Let’s just get to sleep. Okay?” Oliver slid his hand down to Barry’s waist, dragging his fingers in small circles against Barry’s skin.

              “Okay,” Barry said. He leaned forward so his forehead was just touching Oliver’s.

              They fell asleep like that, their breathing in sync.


End file.
